Say, stephanotis in darkness.I stare at the garden and will myself to thinkof strolling out there in sandals to sit on the swing seat,(its canopy now sagging with snow),to shelter from a blistering sun,and worry a little about a hose pipe ban.I cannot even picture the flowering tulips and alliumswhich I know I have planted.It isn't possible that this winter will ever end.But every season is the same. Immutable.I would not be able to see a winter's dayfrom my hammock under the apple tree.Impossible to think of being inside with curtains drawn at 4 p.m. Molly Keane knew that too and that makes it seem more bearable.The Rising Tide 1937